Fear of Falling
by Hallucifer
Summary: Cage!fic. In possibly the worst place in creation, with only a bitter and angry Michael still wearing Adam for company, Sam decides sticking with Lucifer is better than nothing. But with memories of what he learnt about Lucifer while his vessel in mind, Sam finds that maybe the devil's companionship is not as bad as it seems. Eventual Samifer.
1. Swan Dive

There was no exact term for the fear of falling. Acrophobia was the fear of heights, he could recall. He supposed another term wasn't really needed. Where else could you fall from but off of a high place? You could tumble off the edge of a balcony, fall from a roof. There was nowhere to fall lower than the ground, at least for most people.

It was funny the kind of thoughts your mind came up with when in dire situations. Here he was, tumbling down into the greatest depths of Hell, and he was worrying about what proper name to give to the fear he felt. Sam Winchester had definitely never been Acrophobic (it would have been ironic, with how tall he was), but he suddenly understood the fear of falling entirely. Or was it the falling that scared him? Maybe it was when the falling stopped that was the thing to fear.

Something had ripped he and Lucifer apart. He didn't know whether it was the cage that did it, or something else, but he'd felt the archangel fall away from him. Maybe he'd just grown used to them being together, but he felt lighter somehow, shapeless. He could feel the howling winds rushing by, seemingly cutting right through him. Was it supposed to feel like that? He felt like a ghost. He felt like he was fading. He felt scared of falling and the rocky abyss he was tumbling into. In a panic he tried to stop himself, arms flailing, but he wasn't only falling, he was being sucked in.

They were being sucked in. He saw Michael in the distance- Michael who was still in Adam- clawing at the air, trying to stop himself, to fly upwards. It was useless. He couldn't see Lucifer, though there was a blinding light following just behind him. He was scared to look in case it blinded him. But wasn't he already dead? What did it matter?

Then he saw it, the way the cavern narrowed, the gaping entrance to a prison, a square cut amongst the rock, the edges glowing.

He barely had time to take in the sight before they had passed it, and the floor was rising up to meet him, burning red and hard. He writhed madly in the air, fighting against the gravity, the vacuum pulling him in. There was fire everywhere. No. _No._..

Thicks iron bars weaved their way across the entrance, criss-crossing each other until they stretched all the way to opposite sides, sealing the cage. On each intersection of metal was a seal. Six hundred seals that clicked back into place, like six hundred locks turning.

For a few long moments, Sam just stared at the doorway above them. It took a while for him to realise he was looking up when he'd been falling downward. No, he was standing, staring straight ahead. The door was in the wall, not the ceiling. But they'd definitely been falling.

"Down isn't the only way to fall."

The light was still hovering behind him. Without thinking, he turned to face it, immediately wincing, but the great hazy form quickly shifted, seeming to fold in on itself, twisting into a shape until it looked like Nick again.

He didn't know what he had expected Lucifer to do, but the way the archangel was just stood there staring at him made Sam uncomfortable. He felt inclined to respond somehow, to do something. Apologise, maybe. Or... He didn't know. Lucifer didn't look angry. He looked lost, sorrowful, like he was watching something horrible.

It was then Sam realised he was burning. He lifted his hands to look at them, at the fire creeping up his skin. He felt it now, on his face, his body, everywhere, too hot to be recognised, simply pain. He was burning. _He was burning_.

"Sam... _Sam_..."

He could hear the voice, but it sounded far away, like he was underwater. How the hell was he supposed to focus on a voice? He was burning. He was on fire. It hurt so much he couldn't see, or couldn't open his eyes. He could still hear. Someone was yelling now, someone was saying he deserved this.

"It's his fault. _It's all his fault we're stuck down here._"

"Don't blame him. It's your fault. I didn't want this! We could have just walked away."

"How could I walk away after what you did? It's your fault, it's his fault. You two freaks deserve to burn here together, but I did nothing to deserve this! _I am a good son._"

He was pretty sure he'd fallen to his knees. Maybe he was just falling again, right through the ground. Falling into the flames. The voices seemed to have stopped. There was a gust of air, like wings flapping, something like a crash, but he paid no mind to it. He had bigger problems. He was burning. He felt like he was being ripped apart.

The heat was maddening. He thought maybe he was clawing at the floor, clawing at his own face. He wanted to die, to make it stop. But he was already dead, wasn't he?

Sam screamed louder.

* * *

He woke up on his motel bed. For a few moments, he just stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember where he was. What were they hunting? What state was this?

He turned his head, eying the room with it's pale green walls, chipped wooden furniture, brown curtains covering the window. The bed sheets pulled up to Dean's waist were beige.

"Dean?"

His brother's back was turned to him, the dark grey fabric of his shirt stretched taut over his hunched shoulders.

Sam sighed, slipping out of bed, bare feet touching the carpet and padding across the room. He stopped beside his brother, leaning down and shaking Dean's shoulder. "Dean. Come on, get up."

Dean didn't move. Sam frowned. His brother was a light sleeper, you had to be with the life of a hunter.

"_Dean_."

He yanked Dean over onto his back, choking back the scream that clawed at his throat upon finding his brother very definitely dead. His face was starting to rot, hollow eyes staring blankly up at him. His throat was slit. Sam found himself holding a bloodied knife.

"No... No, I... What...?"

He threw the knife away from him, watching it skid across the floorboards. Wait, hadn't the floor been carpet? He looked back at the bed. Dean was gone.

"What?"

He scanned the motel room. Which motel? Where was he? It looked like the room was rotting, disintegrating. He looked up.

"_NO!_"

Of course Dean was pinned to the ceiling, limbs splayed. Then the fire, engulfing the room suddenly, crawling its way across the walls from every angle, rushing towards him, licking at his skin and pulling him into its embrace.

He was screaming, writhing, remembering that he'd been burning before. Oh, he knew where he was now. How could he have forgotten?

He tried to run, tried to make for the door, but there was no door. There had never been a door. Or a motel room. He tried to console himself with the fact that that meant there was no dead Dean burning, but consolations were hard to appreciate when fire was melting your skin off.

He was clawing at the ground in desperation. Or was it the walls? The ceiling? Maybe he was burning on the ceiling...

"Sam."

He tried to run but he was in too much pain to move. He screamed louder, trying to drag himself away. But where? Where could he hide in this horrible place?

"Sam, it's not real."

"_I'm burning_."

"No, you're not. Your mind is just convinced you are."

"I can feel it. _I'm on fire."_

"No. You think you're on fire. Look at it, Sam. Look properly."

Look? Look at what? His skin melting off? He'd really rather not, but he raised his hands in front of his face regardless. He thought he could see the muscles and bone under scarred skin, but when he looked again he wasn't sure. He didn't know how skin burnt. Wouldn't it turn all black first?

"It's in your head, Sam. The horrors you see can only be as bad as your mind can dream up."

He thought about it. Thought about the concept of being on fire, as horrid an idea as that was. He felt his head. His hair was still there, but wouldn't that burn first? And his clothes, he was still wearing clothes. They would have burnt away first, surely, if this were real. This wasn't following logic. He couldn't be on fire.

So suddenly, he wasn't. He blinked and the flames were gone. He almost laughed in relief.

A hand appeared at front of him, offering to help him up. Sam took it without thinking, letting himself be pulled shakily to his feet.

"Thank you."

He'd known who it was, but is mind was only now calm enough to properly acknowledge it and what it meant.

"You're... not Adam, right?"

"No. I'm still Michael. I thought you'd find it easier to speak to me in a vessel, and this way I can keep your brother from having to face this horrid place."

"...Thanks, I guess."

Michael gave a short nod in response, turning slightly to gaze with Sam across the rocky, vast expanse of the cage. If there was an opposite wall, it was too far for Sam to see.

"Where's Lucifer?" Sam found himself asking. He told himself it was a perfectly acceptable question; natural curiosity. "I heard you two arguing before I blacked out... or whatever happened."

Michael shrugged. "Walk with me, Sam."

Seeing no harm in it, Sam followed the archangel as they began a slow pace ahead. He had no idea where they were going, if anywhere, but walking at least gave him something to do rather than thinking about his situation.

"I started seeing other things, you know," Sam said after a near minute of silence. "I thought I was in a motel room with Dean. Then Dean was dead and..." He trailed off, not particularly eager to recount much more detail.

"This place does that," Michael said. "What tortures one man may not effect another as much. It would be unfair to have all the same punishment in Hell, so it gets inside the head of each of its occupants and draws on their own personal fears."

"I see." Sam gave a weak smile. "It's effective."

"Indeed," Michael said seriously.

Sam sighed, tilting his head back to see the roof but again finding he could only see nothing but darkness. The whole place was bleak, like walking through a room with the lights turned off. "So," he started slowly, "how're you doing? You know, with all this."

Michael shrugged. "Someone will be sent for me soon. I will not be left down here."

Sam didn't think breaking into the cage would be that easy, even for the might of Heaven, but he said nothing.

"I will try and allow you and Adam to leave with me. I am sorry for this fate for you, Sam. I always said to my father that being Lucifer's vessel was a cruel fate for anyone. I would have been happy to fight on another plane in our true forms. Lucifer should not be permitted near to anyone."

Sam frowned, brow furrowing.

"Lucifer is like poison. He corrupts everything he comes into contact with. That's what those horrid demons are, twisted souls poisoned by Lucifer's influence."

"He's your brother," Sam couldn't help but say. It disturbed him how casually Michael was saying all this. He wondered if Dean had ever talked about him like this to other people, but- thankfully- he couldn't quite see it.

"Yes," Michael sighed, though it seemed more a gesture for appearance than genuine emotion. "That's what makes this all so disappointing. _My_ brother, now such a monster."

"What?" Sam said. "That's it? You're offended just cause it's your brother? Are you worried it makes you look bad or something?" He was vaguely aware he was mouthing off to an archangel, but he supposed he was in Hell anyway, such risks didn't seem such an issue. Besides, he couldn't help but feel what Michael was saying was unjust. A part of him still compared Michael to Dean, and the idea of his own brother saying such things about him unnerved Sam, though he knew Dean wouldn't.

"I just don't understand it," Michael muttered, shaking his head. "We were happy. Why did he have to ruin it?"

"Well..." Sam hesitated. He didn't want to be too bold in defending Lucifer, merely on principle, but he had to admit Michael's attitude irked him. It was as if he couldn't even be bothered to consider Lucifer's reason. "He felt strongly about the whole issue of humanity, you know. People do strange things when it comes to something they really care about."

"I thought he cared about me. Us. Our family."

"He does," Sam blurted. He paused, lowering his voice. "Look, maybe I don't know everything about it. But, just maybe you need to take into account that Lucifer thought he was doing the right thing."

Michael turned to look at him, expression stern. It was disturbing to see on Adam's usually placid features. "Disobeying our father is _not_ the right thing."

Sam broke eye contact quickly. "I can't comment on that," he said shortly. "I'm just, you know, saying Lucifer had his reasons."

"Well his 'reasons' were wrong."

"Not to him."

Michael's eyes narrowed dangerously and Sam decided against saying anymore. Already in Hell or not, provoking an archangel too far was never a good idea.

They kept walking. The landscape hadn't changed much. Still gloomy and nothing but rocky floor and shadowed walls.

"How big is this place?" Sam asked.

"That depends," Michael replied. "The concepts of time and space are not the same here as on earth. This place is essentially endless, but you may come across the walls if you look, but the distance between them may not be the same next time you find them. Likewise, it may not look the same. Hell will be whatever your mind makes it into, as you've already seen a little of."

Sam nodded. "So what, Lucifer flew off?"

"More or less. He's likely sulking somewhere."

Sam considered what he wanted to say. He decided he might as well. "You know, seeing as we're all stuck here. Maybe the two of you could... talk?"

For a few moments, Michael said nothing. Sam wondered if he was about to simply fly off and leave him, but eventually, he responded. "You heard all that, that was said in the cemetery."

Sam nodded. "It's strange, you know. Since I said yes, Lucifer let me hear and see everything. From Jimmy- that's Cas' vessel- I got the impression it wasn't quite like that."

"It's not usually," Michael said, a touch of genuine surprise lining his voice. "I don't know why Lucifer kept you so aware." He paused. "A bad decision, it seems. Though it would explain how you actually managed to regain control."

Sam chose not to comment.

"So," he said instead. "What are we going to do? I mean, we're all here and it's not like we've got HBO in the pit, right?"

Michael turned to him with a frown, clearly not understanding the reference.

Sam smiled weakly. "It's, er, a TV channel."

"Oh." Michael raised both eyebrows slightly, but shrugged it off. "I see."

Sam found it rather ironic that Michael seemed to be one of the more oblivious angels, at least when it came to human things. With how he had boasted about being the first to bow to humans as his Father asked, Sam was surprised at how little he knew about the creatures he was supposed to serve. He couldn't help but think that maybe Michael had missed the point.

He opened his mouth, intending to make some other mundane comment about their situation, when something caught his attention.

In the dim, gloomy expanse of rock and not much else, any change in scenery was easily noticeable, so the gleam of pale yellow on the ground quickly caught his attention.

"What's that?"

Michael frowned as Sam hurried forward, crouching down and picking up the thin object. It was a feather, rather ragged, but still a beautiful.

"Just leave it, Sam," Michael said.

Sam ignored him, holding it close to his face to study it. "It's an angel feather, right? Can they fall out?"

"Not generally," Michael said vaguely.

Sam stood up, looking around. There was another feather up ahead. He dashed over and collected it up, too. He stopped, turning to look at Michael. "Are these yours?"

"My wings are white."

Sam's expression hardened. He walked forward, toward a shadowed area where the rocky wall bent in and over hung, casting the space in almost complete blackness. As he got closer, he could see a shape lying on the floor, huddled close to the wall. He knelt down beside it, hand hovering over a back covered in dark green fabric. He hesitated only briefly before placing his hand down.

He thought he felt Lucifer twitch slightly, but otherwise he didn't respond.

Sam looked up at Michael, who merely stood with his hands by his sides. "What happened?"

"We may have had an... altercation."

"You fought him?" Sam said. "After everything? Down here, of all places? You _still_ felt the need to fight your own brother?"

"Lucifer betrayed me," Michael snapped.

"We're in _Hell_, Michael. Can you not let it go just for now?"

"I won't be here for long," Michael insisted. "And once I am freed, we will restart the apocalypse and I will fulfil my destiny as I am supposed to."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Why does it _have_ to happen? Are you that desperate to kill your own brother? Even after all this, you really can't just let it go?"

"It is my destiny," Michael said firmly, as if that settled the matter.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Your chance at glory, you mean. Doesn't family mean anything to you?"

"Of course," Michael snapped, fists clenched. "I'm doing this for my family."

"_Lucifer_ is your family!"

"Lucifer is a _freak!_"

Sam hadn't realised his hand was still on Lucifer's back. He froze as he felt a jolt underneath his fingertips, glancing over, but stopping himself from commenting. Slowly, he turned back to Michael. "Why? I'm 'the boy with the demon blood', aren't I a freak, too?"

Michael rolled his shoulders back, lips pursed. "I have tried to be nice to you, Sam."

"Screw that," Sam spat. "Go on, tell me what you think of me. I'm a freak too, right?"

"_Yes_," Michael growled. "My Father did not intend for such abominations. I thought you might still be saved, when I so generously offered to help you get out of here with me. I was even going to keep you company until then."

"Screw your company."

"You weren't saying that when I helped you snap out of it when this place was starting to get to you."

"Thanks for that," Sam said quickly, though with a clear lack of gratitude. "I appreciated it. But you know what? I think I can handle myself now. Get lost, Michael."

The archangel frowned, looking perplexed. "You're staying here? With him?"

Sam paused, gaze straying to look down at the hunched creature lying on the floor beside him, his face hidden. He swallowed. "Yes."

"Fine," Michael hissed. "I'll go and wait for my rescue crew and I'll ensure we don't let you hitch a ride. I hope you'll be very happy together."

With a flap of wings, he was gone.

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, jumping slightly when, from just below him, a surprisingly humbled voice mumbled, "thank you."


	2. Drifting

A few long moments of silence passed. Slowly, Lucifer pushed himself up, turning to look up at Sam. There were no visible scars on him, but Sam supposed there wouldn't be. He was creating the illusion of his old vessel, presumably to not totally overwhelm Sam's senses.

Even so, the Winchester found himself looking away uncomfortably. "He was... He was being a total jerk. I was getting sick of it." He wanted to tell Lucifer he didn't do it for him, but that both sounded stupid, and perhaps wasn't entirely true. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

Lucifer climbed properly up onto his knees, blue eyes studying the Winchester. "I didn't intend for you to find me like that," he said quietly. "That wasn't my most... eloquent moment."

Unsure what to say, Sam nodded, still not meeting his eyes. For the sake of something to do, he studied the stretch of wall they were beside, glancing behind in hopes of seeing the opposite side but finding the space only stretched into blackness.

"You're handling this well," Lucifer said suddenly.

Sam turned back to him and shrugged vaguely. "I... kind of had some bad moments earlier. I thought I was on fire, then I saw all this stuff where Dean was dead and..."

"Hell does that."

Sam nodded. "Michael kind of helped me snap out of it." He paused. "But then he started acting like a jerk."

The corner of Lucifer's lips twitched into something close to a smile. "Michael does that."

Sam managed to smile back, before he quickly forced his expression into something a little more neutral. He shouldn't be getting on with Lucifer, let alone sharing jokes with him. He looked away again.

"So, erm, are you hurt... or anything?"

Lucifer shrugged, which didn't really tell Sam anything either way. "He didn't try as hard as he could have," he said.

Sam wondered whether Lucifer had fought back. The general consensus he'd got from other angels was that Michael would have won, had the big apocalyptic fight gone down. It seemed now that Michael was fine after having tossed his brother around. Was Michael truly that much stronger? Or was Lucifer just not trying?

He couldn't help but think about it. When Lucifer had been inside his head, he had told Sam he couldn't lie to him, that he could see everything in his mind, but that connection had worked both ways. Lucifer's thoughts were hard to make out, admittedly, a swirling, racing mass of angelic knowledge, but Sam had still seen bits and pieces. Anger and hatred were prominent. Sam had seen gruesome images of Lucifer literally tearing other beings apart, blood coating his hands, dripping all the way down his arms. There was little remorse, a horrid coldness deep in his soul that all feelings and affection seemed to have been stripped from. But there was something else, too. Sam had felt it at certain moments, like when Lucifer had seen Michael again in that cemetery, for the first time in millennia. There had been hope, and an almost desperate need for acceptance that Sam recognised all too well from something within himself.

"So..." he said, wanting more to break the awkward silence than anything else. There was a strange kind of uncertainty about talking to someone who had literally seen inside your head. It was the same kind of discomfort when as someone walking in on you changing, with neither sure whether to talk about it, or simply feign ignorance that such intimacy had ever occurred. "What now?"

Lucifer's gaze slid over to him. "Now nothing," he said. "If you were expecting that I had some big plan, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. This is our lot for the rest of eternity, Sammy."

There was a slight bitterness to Lucifer's words, but Sam chose to ignore it. "I just meant, how are we going about this? There's four of us down here, and... you know, kind of a lot of stuff unresolved."

It was a purposefully vague term. Sam was wary of making any presumptions. He wasn't sure how Lucifer felt towards him right now. Though he'd not shown any signs of hostility yet, he could easily decide to take his anger out on Sam.

"I believe I owe you a fiddle of gold," Lucifer said.

Sam blinked, briefly confused, before he recalled the light-hearted boast Lucifer had made in response to discovering that Sam planned to fight him inside his own head. _A fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you._ "Let's... just call it a draw."

He didn't know if he truly was better than Lucifer. He doubted it. He'd certainly failed in his initial attempts to over-power him. A final result couldn't really be declared, seeing as both opponents had hardly been as determined in their efforts as they should have been.

Sam was ashamed to admit, when joining with Lucifer, he had felt a disturbing, but undeniable sense of pleasure. Exhilaration, Lucifer had called it. And Sam _had_ most certainly felt it. In fact, for the first time, he had felt... whole. He could have fought Lucifer harder and he knew it.

Yet, likewise, Lucifer had not made the effort he should...

"He can't come for you, you know," Lucifer said. "Not this time. Dean can't get down here, no matter what deals he makes."

"I told him to go and make a life for himself."

"Will he?" Lucifer actually sounded genuinely curious.

Sam considered it. "I hope so."

It was too strange just sitting on the floor together like this, so Sam got to his feet, shuffling awkwardly as he looked around. There really wasn't much to do in such a place, and the lack of purpose was already starting to get to him. He kept thinking he should be searching for a new job, checking the papers for suspicious stories. Even at Stanford, Sam had been busy with schoolwork, and constantly keeping himself in check to appear 'normal' to his peers. Here there was nothing, no jobs to do, no one to try and give a good impression to.

He turned as Lucifer stood, too, teeth grating his bottom lip. "What did you do down here for all that time, on your own?"

For a few moments, Lucifer didn't answer. He looked slowly around, blue eyes running over the expanse of the cage. Sam wondered how far he could see.

"Thinking," Lucifer said eventually. "A lot of thinking."

The idea was already staring to disturb Sam. He'd never liked having too much time to think. An eternity with nothing but his thoughts was suddenly a horribly daunting idea. Did time work down here? Would he age? He looked down at his hands, panicking briefly when he thought he saw them as old and wrinkled, but when he blinked furiously and shook his head, the illusion vanished.

"What will happen to me?" Sam asked. "Will I get older? Die?"

Lucifer gaze ran slowly over him. There was something in his eyes that unnerved Sam, like Lucifer was holding back on telling him something. "What?"

"You haven't realised?"

"Realised what?"

"I presumed it was part of your big plan?"

"_What_ was?"

"What attempted to catch you on the way down."

"_What?_"

"Something pulled your body out, Sam."

"Huh? But I'm right here."

Lucifer's gaze flicked over him again. "Not all of you."

Sam was starting to panic, a sense of dread welling up inside him. He had felt different since ending up here, but he'd presumed it was just because it was... well, Hell.

"Your body's gone, Sam," Lucifer said. "You're just a soul."

And suddenly, he could feel it. The eerie lack of physicality, the looseness, that there was nothing anchoring him into this form. There had been nothing except his own belief that he was in a body and should therefore appear so.

It was as if he turned to gas, suddenly drifting, shapeless, he tried to hold his hands out to see them but there was nothing there. Sam started screaming.

He wasn't a person anymore. His body was gone. Gone _where?_ He was drifting in nothingness. What happened if he forgot himself? Would he disappear entirely?

"Sam..."

How could he hear? Surely he didn't have ears, ear drums, or whatever else made sound audible to humans.

"Sam, you're fine."

He couldn't answer. He was choking on his words, still screaming. Screaming out of a non-existent mouth. He was just a soul. _Just a soul_. What the hell did that even mean?

He was floating off the floor. Or there was no floor. The sensation was horrid and he flailed in the air though he had no limbs. It felt constantly like he was falling, falling from a great height, so high it felt like flying, those moments of initial free-falling where you couldn't see the ground and it seemed like you would be in the air forever.

"Sam..."

He couldn't see anymore. Everything was a blurred mass of colour and darkness. He was drowning in the air. He was losing himself. He was-"

"_Sam!"_

There was light. The most beautiful light he'd ever seen. He thought it must have been huge, but without his body he had no idea how big he was to compare. But the light was wrapping around him, embracing him. And the light was a being, with a body and limbs and beautiful, beautiful wings. The light had been there all along, he now realised. Lucifer hadn't made himself look like Nick, rather Sam's mind, in its desperate state, has chosen to see him like that, unable to comprehend this cosmic true form. But he'd lost touch with his mind now. The protections the human mind placed upon itself to cope with what it couldn't understand were no longer functioning. He could see Lucifer- really see him. And he could see Hell, in all its true horror with a thousand images flickering together of all the worst things he knew of. He could see it all at once and it was too much. He was drowning...

* * *

He was in another motel room. He could feel the coarse sheets under him, smell the faint scent of cleaning fluid and cigarette smoke for nearby rooms. Or was that the burning of hell fire? He was scared to open his eyes to find out. Fire? Another dead Dean? Someone else he loved burning on the ceiling?

"It's okay, Sam."

There wasn't any particular sense of affection in Lucifer's voice. He merely sounded factual, and strangely that was what convinced Sam to dare look around him. And it was, indeed, okay.

He was lying on the motel bed. The sheets were a deep red, the room gloomy as if it were night, though surely there was no such thing in Hell. And Lucifer was with him, sat on the end of the bed with his back to him.

"Where are we?" Sam asked. "Is this another trick? Am I about to see something horrible again?"

Lucifer shook his head. "You should be fine. There are ways to combat Hell's tricks, Sam. Such as this. You have to bring yourself to a happier place, a good memory. This is one of mine."

Sam frowned, looking down and holding his hands out. He could indeed see them, though the frightening concept that he was still just a soul was slowly creeping up on him again. "How am I here? How am I... me? Before it was like... like I forgot myself." He had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from shivering. "It was like I fell apart."

Lucifer ducked his head, the thick nape of his neck visible between his shirt collar and the short-cut edges of blond hair. "A soul is a colossal thing, Sam. Your body is what usually anchors you together. That's why the ghosts you hunt go crazy in the way they do. They get lost in themselves." He raised his head once more, turning to look over his shoulder at Sam. "Your soul is everything you are simultaneously present in a constant moment. Humans weren't made to see themselves to that extent."

The information was making Sam's head swim. He swallowed thickly, making evert conscious effort to keep himself calm. "Okay, so why aren't I all crazy now? Why am I here? You said this was a memory of yours?" He looked around. What memory of the devil's could possibly be in a motel room?

And then he recognised it. He recognised the empty space in the bed beside him where he had convinced himself Jess lay. He'd known it wasn't really Jess, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to admit it, both because it was too painful, and because a frightening part of him felt unnervingly more attracted to what he sensed it really was. Sam stared at the white sheets, slowly extending one hand and smoothing his palm over them. "This is... this is the first time we met."

Lucifer nodded, facing away from him once more.

It was exact to the last detail. Even the pattern on the wallpaper flowed just how Sam remembered it.

"Why... Why here?"

"I told you. Hell can be combated with good memories."

Sam was silent for a few moments, contemplating. "This," he spoke up eventually, "is a good memory to you?"

Lucifer nodded. "Seeing you... It was..." Lucifer paused, eyes slipping shut. "It was something I'd been waiting for for longer than you know."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, shuffling on the bed as if he wanted to get up and walk off but couldn't quite bring himself to.

"My vessel..." Lucifer spoke the words with the same reverence he had when he had first said them to Sam. There was something both light and deeply meaning in his tone, like it was something he thought about fleetingly in every casual moment, yet the most significant thing in the world.

"Well," Sam said hesitantly, voice tight. "That whole thing kind of back-fired, didn't it?"

Lucifer showed no anger, or even displeasure at the words. His head drooped slightly, and Sam almost got the impression he was smiling. "It doesn't matter what happened, Sam. You're still my vessel. Please, don't think of that as some technical term, some horrid role. I never thought of you as a tool, Sam. Not ever."

Sam bit his bottom lip, unsure what to say. This was what he resented most with Lucifer. Not anything to do with demons, or killing and destruction. No. What he hated the most about the devil (only marginally more than he hated the fact that he didn't really hate him at all) was how genuinely uncomfortable Lucifer made him feel. He tried, he really did, to feel scared, to be sickened by him, but the feelings just weren't there. It would be so easy to hate him if he truly were the purely evil being doing bad for the mere sake of it, but instead Lucifer never failed to throw him off guard, saying these things that made Sam feel... He didn't even know what.

"Stop," he said. "Just stop, okay? Shut up."

Lucifer glanced over his shoulder at him, but obediently said nothing. He didn't even do Sam the favour of looking offended.

For a long while, they just sat in silence. Sam fiddled with the bed sheets, marveling at the realism of the fabric. Hell certainly didn't fail to put in the details; or was it Lucifer? His own bad memories had fluctuated with his own poor memory, but he supposed angels were much better at recalling things. Even so, Lucifer was... he didn't even know how old, and that one first meeting them must have been no more than a brief flicker in the colossal span of his lifetime. Did Lucifer think about this often?

"What now?" he asked.

Slowly, Lucifer got to his feet, rolling his shoulders back before turning languidly to face Sam. "There is no now, Sam." He gestured vaguely around them. "There's this. Forever. You might as well forget about time, because here it might as well be gone."

The idea made Sam's breath hitch in his throat. The idea of just _being_ down here, with nothing to strive for, nothing to _do_ was suddenly terrifying. "But... you must have... some plan or have to want to do something. I mean, when you were in here before, you must have occupied yourself somehow. You've got to have some purpose?"

Lucifer almost seemed to smile at that, walking round to the side of the bed and reaching down to gently tuck Sam's hair back behind his ear.

Sam found he couldn't even be bothered to pretend to flinch.

"You were my purpose, Sam," Lucifer said.

Sam closed his eyes. "Please don't say that." He tried to make his voice purposeful, but it came out as nothing more than a weak whisper.

Lucifer looked less than happy, but said nothing more. He linked his hands behind his back and wandered aimlessly across the room. "I do understand, Sam, why you continue to cling to this resentment of me. I know you feel you have to." He paused, the faint light silhouetting the side of his face so Sam couldn't quite see his expression. "But there is no way out of here. And forever is a long time to keep up such feelings only because you feel obliged to."

There were a thousand arguments Sam could have made to that, all of which both he and Lucifer knew were not true. So he said nothing, instead dropping back down on the bed and rolling onto his side so his back was to Lucifer.


	3. Floating

He couldn't sleep. Then again, he wasn't even sure if he was trying to sleep. _Could_ he sleep? He didn't know whether sleep was possible in Hell, nor whether being just a soul made it both possible and necessary. He seemed to have blacked out before, but perhaps that had been just his mind shutting down on itself. Perhaps that had been him losing touch with himself. Suddenly, sleep didn't seem all that appealing.

He opened his eyes, wondering if the surrounding area might have changed, but he found himself looking at the same gloomy motel wall as before.

"Lucifer?" The word spilled from his lips without thinking, and he flushed, but there was nothing he could do to take it back.

"Here," Lucifer's voice came, sounding slightly surprised and almost elated that Sam had called out for him.

The archangel soon appeared in Sam's line of vision, and the hunter sat up properly, feeling uncomfortable lying down while Lucifer stood. He suddenly felt stupid for being in the bed. He knew how Lucifer felt about humans, about how inadequate they were. Did Lucifer think him pathetic for needing to- or at least wanting to- sleep?

He abruptly recalled that he shouldn't really care what the devil, of all people, thought of him, and Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, swinging his legs down onto the floor so he was sat upright.

"What..." Sam really didn't like asking him questions, but the silence was unbearable. "What have you been doing?"

"Watching you."

Sam knew he should feel unnerved by that, but the feeling was distinctly absent.

"I meant, what the hell do you plan to do down here? You know... forever. There must be... _something_..." He was aware he was starting to freak out. The idea of eternity, in all it massiveness was starting to get to him. This was Hell. There wasn't so much as a book to read. All he had was this great cavernous space, his own dark thoughts. And Lucifer.

"I hate to break it you, Sammy. But there's not a secret games room down here I'm hiding from you."

Sam sighed, but the corner of his lips quirked into something akin to an amused smile. "I know."

Lucifer looked him over briefly, before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him, studying Sam's expression out of the corner of his eyes, as if looking to see his reaction.

Sam was all too aware of his reaction, and that it was not the one he probably should have.

He sighed, looking vaguely the other way. "Will I go crazy down here?" he asked. "Is that inevitable?"

"I don't know." Lucifer's voice was sincere. "This place wasn't meant for a human, nor have any been in here before. I simply can't tell you, Sam."

"Right." He looked around at the illusion of the motel room. "Would it be possible to dream up another landscape? Like one of with something to do? You know, a movie theatre maybe? Or a library?" He was only half-joking.

"Technically," Lucifer said. "But everything within it you would know already. You can only see what's already in your own mind. You can't go anywhere new, just all the places you've already been."

Sam sighed. It was exactly as he'd been fearing. "Right." He glanced at Lucifer. "Can we go places you've been? I mean, it works for both of us, right?"

"Yes," Lucifer said, though he sounded hesitant. "You would have to summon the memories yourself, though. It can be hard to focus on the place you want. You need a strong memory for it to work."

"You... got this motel room to work."

For a few long moments, Lucifer was silent, before he sighed, tilting his head back slightly and staring upward as if he could see the sky. "Do you want me to say it?" He said blandly, seeming almost frustrated, as if he believe Sam were purposefully feigning ignorance.

"Say what?" Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"How much you mean to me. That you're the only thing I had to look forward to for so long. That I l-"

"_Stop_," Sam cut in, frowning uncomfortably. "Don't," he said, voice quieter now. "Just don't." He sighed, clenching his hands in his lap. "Why do you have to say stuff like that?"

Lucifer turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You would rather I lie?"

Sam hunched his shoulder, looking away. "I'd rather you didn't say that stuff," he reaffirmed. "I'd rather you didn't feel like that. I... I'd rather not be stuck down here with you."

Lucifer said nothing, expression melting into one of quiet contemplation, though Sam couldn't help but note he didn't look happy.

A few long moments of silence passed, before Lucifer spoke up again. "Do you want me to teach you? How to create such landscapes, I mean."

Sam thought about it. His memories of this motel room were... well, uncomfortable. Besides, he would rather not be staring at the four same walls for the next few centuries. He nodded.

Lucifer, surprisingly, shuffled round on the bed, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. He tucked them underneath him so he was kneeling up, gesturing for Sam to adopt a similar position.

With a little reluctance, the hunter did so, sitting cross-legged so he was facing Lucifer.

The archangel held his hands out, and Sam shifted uncomfortably, but took them nonetheless.

"This will require a lot of concentration," Lucifer said, voice soft. "It's not something you can do half-hearted. For some humans, it may even be beyond them. But you are special, Sam."

Sam ducked his head a little, again uncomfortable at such compliments, but he said nothing, and merely nodded to Lucifer's words instead.

"Alright," the archangel said firmly. "Do you have a place in mind?"

"I was thinking, this school I went to when I was eleven," Sam said. "I really enjoyed it there. We actually stayed long enough for me to make friends and-"

"Not strong enough," Lucifer cut in. "And too vague. Narrow it down. Where we are now is only a room, Sam. Think of a room you'd be genuinely happy enough to spend eternity in."

Sam thought. One place did come to mind. "Okay, erm, maybe my room at Stanford? I really loved university, and I was happy there, with Jess, my..." He trailed off, remembering how Lucifer had first appeared to him. "You know."

"We can try it," Lucifer said. "Think about that place, Sam."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes and delving back in his mind to before Dean had broken in that one night.

"You have to really think, Sam," Lucifer's voice continued. "Not just what it looked like; what it smelt like, the feel of things, how _you_ felt there."

How had he felt there? Happy, surely. With his lovely Jessica. They watched DVDs together on weekends. That had been nice. Normal. Jess had always laughed at how he only ever knew about old movies from the eighties and seventies. He and Dean only ever watched old tapes you could rent at motels when they were kids, or Bobby's old videos...

He opened his eyes. He had done it! He was sat in his room at Stanford. This was the bed he'd shared with Jess. He ran his hands over the covers. Something red dripped onto his hand.

"_No!_"

Though he wanted nothing more than to not see, he looked up on instinct. He saw the flash of fire, but before he could make out much more, some seemed to pull him back. He briefly lost semblance of which way was up. It was like falling through a vortex. He screamed and clawed at the air, but within a few moments it was over, and he landed with a jolt back into himself, sat cross-legged once more on the motel room bed opposite Lucifer, whose hands had tightened on his, as if he'd just pulled him up from the edge of a cliff.

"You're supposed to think of somewhere happy," Lucifer said blandly.

Sam frowned, roughly pulling his hands away. "That _was_ a happy place. Until it got ruined. Jess and I could have had a really good life together and-"

"Could you?" Lucifer sounded genuinely curious.

Sam looked over at him.

"I could feel your memories in that place, Sam. It didn't feel so happy to me. Even before that... instance. You need somewhere you were _genuinely_ happy."

"I _was_ genuinely happy with Jess," Sam snapped.

Lucifer tilted his head curiously. "Were you? Let me rephrase: were you _honestly_ happy? To yourself and to her. Because I felt fear, paranoia. You lived in worry that she would find out."

"No," Sam said, but it was barely more than a weak whisper.

"Hell knows when you're lying, Sam," Lucifer said. "It has to be genuine happiness to fight back."

Sam sighed, exhaling sharply from between barely parted lips. Grudgingly conceding his own arguments were not as strong as he hoped, he ventured to move on before Lucifer hit on anymore uncomfortable truths. He supposed the only real genuine feeling he could show had always been only with Dean, or perhaps Bobby. Though even then there had been times when he had not been entirely honest.

The thoughts made Sam uncomfortable. Was that really how his life had been? One bout of pretending after another? Had he always been lying somehow?

"Try again," Lucifer coaxed him gently.

Sam was hardly in a happy mindset, but having never been one to quit easily, he shook his head to try and rid himself of the thoughts, shuffling back round and taking Lucifer's hands once more.

"You have to find genuine happiness, Sam. Somewhere you were at ease."

He nodded, letting his eyes slip shut once more as he searched his memory banks. At ease? Okay, somewhere with Dean or Bobby then. Yes, Bobby's house maybe. He liked Bobby's house. Surely it was as close to a home as he'd ever had.

"You need a specific instance, Sam. You need to freeze frame that moment. Focus."

He remembered one night. There hadn't even really been anything special about it. Dean and Bobby had been downstairs, their voices a soft, but comforting murmur. They'd searched the paper, but no cases had come up. So they'd simply hung around the house for a bit. They'd got takeaway pizza. It had been nice. A moment of peace. It was a cliche phrase, but that was the best way he could think to describe it.

Sucking in a deep breath, he dared to open his eyes.

The wall behind Lucifer was lined with a large bookcase, full of slightly battered, but endlessly useful old volumes. To the left, there was the door, though he didn't dare think about opening it. A slightly wobbly chest of drawers where he kept some of the clothes he didn't travel with. Twisting his head to the right, he found the wooden desk, covered in papers. The wall above was tacked with photographs, diagrams, and newspaper articles. He could even smell whisky and Old Spice in the air.

"Well done, Sam," Lucifer said.

"I really did it," Sam muttered, looking around in awe. He was briefly worried he was going to see flames, or some other horrid sight, but none came. He went to stand up, realising with slightly embarrassment that he still held Lucifer's hands. He pulled away, clenching his fists in a nervous gesture he quickly regretted. Feeling a blush creeping onto his face, he turned away under the pretence of studying the details of the room.

"This should hold," Lucifer said, moving languidly to stand beside him. He slowly gazed around the room, though his face betrayed nothing of what he thought.

Sam wondered sometimes, what angels thought. He had no idea where to even begin guessing with how old Lucifer was, but he knew well that it was at least several thousand times the length over of a human life. Sam often found himself amazed by things, events that happened to him. Surely they would only bore Lucifer. This room probably seemed quaint and uninteresting to him, at best.

Trying not to focus too hard on his bizarre companion, Sam studied the shelves, finding that- as Lucifer had said- they were all book titles he knew. He knew everything in this room and that was what bought it into existence. He knew the empty glass sat on the corner of the desk, the slightly threadbare army blanket thrown over the duvet, even the contents of the drawers he found contained everything he remembered.

There wasn't much. A hairbrush, a few pens, his phone charger (though God only knew where his actual phone was right now), a pad of sticky notes, and the old pack of playing cards Bobby had given him when he was ten.

He lifted them out. Well, there was something to do, at least. He knew every card that was in a full deck, so he saw no reason why they shouldn't work. He could practice Solitaire, or...

Attempting to not make too big a deal of it, he turned and faced Lucifer, who was merely stood watching him. He held up the pack, giving a small, half-shrug. "You wanna play?"

Lucifer frowned, brown creasing in apparent confusion. "Play what?"

Sam shrugged. "Blackjack, Poker, anything really. Bobby taught me and Dean a load of games when we were kids."

"With these?" Lucifer asked, nodding to the deck of cards, watching as Sam took the stack out of the cardboard packaging. "How do these games work?"

"I'll teach you," Sam said.

He sat down on the bed, gesturing for Lucifer to sit opposite him, much as they had been before.

This was simply something to do, he insisted to himself. They were stuck here forever, so they might as well find a way to keep entertained. He was simply showing Lucifer a few card games, making use of what few supplies they had. It was a simple and practical way of spending time. It could have been any two people.

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam hardened his resolve and nodded. He could do this. Hell, okay. Eternity, he could handle. Lucifer for company, no problem. Though perhaps that lack of issue was an issue in itself...

Deciding not to think to hard on it, Sam shuffled the deck.


	4. Soaring

"Three of a kind."

"Full house."

Sam sighed, collecting up the cards and shuffling them as he shook his head. "For someone whose only just learnt to play, you're damn good at this."

The corner of Lucifer's lips twitched into something that might have been close to a proud smile. "I like to be the best at anything I do," he said.

"Show off," Sam muttered, dealing out the cards again.

"Do humans play this game a lot?"

Sam shrugged. "It's fairly popular. A lot of people go to casinos to play properly, especially in America."

"Casinos?" Lucifer questioned. "Those gambling places?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, people bet money on the games, hope to make an easy fortune, you know."

"Humans," Lucifer muttered. "I never did understand your obsession with material things. You have very strange priorities."

Sam declined to comment.

"Why do people risk what wealth they have?" Lucifer asked. "Surely you'd rather hang onto the thing you value so much?"

"Makes it more exciting, I guess," Sam explained. "You know, a game's more intense if you've got something to lose. Plus winning's surely better if you get something out of it."

Lucifer seemed to consider this. "I suppose," he said. "Would you rather we played with money?"

"Why? You got a secret fortune stashed somewhere?"

Lucifer smirked but shook his head. "As far as I know, there's no money down here. I just wondered, hypothetically, if you'd find it more interesting."

"Doesn't have to be money," Sam said. "Kids at school used to play and bet sweets and stuff."

Lucifer looked pointedly around the room. Sam took the point. There was hardly anything for them to bet, and the stuff was all his (or an illusion of his) anyway. He scanned Lucifer's form, before remembering that that too was an illusion. He hated thinking about it, the familiar uneasy sensation of drifting creeping up on him again.

"We could trade stories or something," he said quickly, ridding himself of the lingering worries. "Like, whoever loses each hand has to say one thing the other didn't know."

Lucifer frowned curiously. "Like what?"

Sam shrugged. "Anything, I suppose. Or maybe if you win a hand, you can ask a question. Like, something you want to know about me?"

There was a brief flash of intrigue on Lucifer's face, but it was quickly covered. "I suppose," he said.

Once they were set up to play again, Sam subconsciously drew in a sharp breath upon seeing his cards. He had a good hand. Four of a kind!

He stopped, chancing a glance up at the archangel who seemed to be focused on his own cards. Lucifer had a very good poker face. He had to admit, the idea of Lucifer asking him personal things made him a little uneasy, though there was a rising curiosity building within him he'd rather not think about, to be able to find out a little more about the devil.

_I could use it as a way to find out some weakness of his_, he thought, but even in his own head, the argument sounded poor.

"Four of a kind," he blurted, to stop himself thinking any deeper about these things.

Lucifer frowned slightly, throwing his own cards down. "Two pair. Okay, Sammy, ask away."

Sam bit his bottom lip, contemplating. He had no idea what to ask. Not because he couldn't think of anything, but because a million questions came to mind. Head swimming, he decided on something safe. "How old are you?"

For a brief moment, Lucifer merely blinked at him, before smiling slightly.

Sam shifted uneasily. "What?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Just not what I expected you to ask," Lucifer replied calmly, before seeming to think for a few moments. "Time was sort of an irrelevant concept in the beginning," he said. "It was you humans that invented all these devices to obsessively track it. I can't give you an exact answer, but I think you are more interested in knowing simply how long I have been here for, rather than my exact age." He thought for a few moments. "At a rough estimate, I would say I came to be roughly seventy billion years ago."

Sam felt himself pale. Despite the shock, he knew deep down that his brain couldn't quite fully grasp what he had just been told. He knew what the number meant, he knew that that was a very, _very_ long time, but still he found himself incapable of grasping just _how_ long such a time was. Stanford felt like an eternity ago to him, and yet it was a mere few years. Lucifer had lived his whole lifetime over countless times. Honestly, it made him feel faint.

Lucifer seemed amused by his reaction. "Need a minute, Sammy?"

Instinctively feeling defensive, he adamantly shook his head. "What? No. I'm fine." He snatched up the cards and shuffled the deck almost violently. "Come on, next round."

Despite their previous records of Lucifer showing an irritating amount of talent for this, Sam had hoped to somehow fluke the entire game and ask all the questions, but sure enough, Lucifer triumphed him with a better hand.

Sam sighed, attempting to look nonchalant. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

Lucifer didn't hesitate, as if he'd had the question formed ready in his mind. "Do I scare you?"

Sam blinked. Lucifer had also seemed surprised by his question, but in a light-hearted sense. This, however, shocked Sam into an uncomfortable stupor. He found himself looking away, tucking his hair back behind his ear to avoid answering a few moments longer. Lucifer didn't seem inclined to rush him. The silence strained for a long while, before he finally blurted his response. "No." He forced himself to glance back over at the being sat opposite him. "At least, I don't feel that you do as much as you maybe should."

He feared Lucifer would ask for elaboration, or use this to further push some other point, but he merely nodded. "I appreciate your honesty, Sammy."

They played on. Lucifer seemed to be either oblivious, or pretending he didn't see Sam's flushed face. Sam was also suspicious of the ease with which he lost the next round, but unsure how- or indeed why- Lucifer could have thrown it, he brushed it off and contemplated his next question.

Deciding Lucifer seemed pretty open to whatever he wanted to know, he chanced a slightly more personal question. "Do you... regret any of it? You know, becoming the devil?"

For a brief moment, Lucifer didn't seem to react. But a slight frowned slowly crept onto his face, despite his best effort. When he spoke, there was something of a strained quality to his voice that made Sam almost regret his question. "No." Lucifer shook his head. "I think, if it were to all happen again, I would make the same choices. What I regret, is not being able to make any other choices. If Michael had even given me the smallest semblance of being willing to listen, I would have done everything I could to persuade him." He raised his head and met Sam's gaze. "They left me with no choice. No one would listen. No one would even consider what I was saying. I've told you before, Sam. I did this because I had to."

Sam found himself nodding. He couldn't agree with Lucifer's action, but he did see where the archangel was coming from. Lucifer had been left with only the options of giving up his opinion, or fighting all out for it. Sam supposed- no matter what evils it had motivated him to do- he couldn't blame Lucifer for standing up for what he believed in.

"Do you think I'm wrong?" Lucifer asked.

"Not your turn to ask a question," Sam found himself saying, before he even had time to contemplate whether he should be joking with the devil.

Lucifer smiled, sliding the cards he'd been holding back into a pile and stacking them on top of the others. "I always enjoyed our special little chats, Sammy." He met the hunter's gaze. "It may seem minor in comparison to everything I was trying to do, but your acceptance has always been something that genuinely means a lot to me."

Sam folded his own cards back into one pile, staring blankly down at the top one. Ace of hearts. "I know." He sighed. "You know, even after everything, all the horrific stuff I've seen, with the beings we hunt, it's the... compassion some show I find the most unsettling." He glanced up at Lucifer. "I've met vampires and werewolves that didn't want to hurt people. Demons and angel that just wanted to blend in with the world." He almost smiled. "Honestly, I thought you- if anyone- could be relied on to simply be bad. But you... you came to me in that dream and you just... you actually seemed to care about how I felt. Sure, you were planning to use me, to do all these bad things, but you wanted me to understand why." He met Lucifer's gaze. "Right?"

The archangel nodded. "I know you still don't quite get it, Sam. But I'm glad you at least understand that I _wanted_ you to understand."

Sam sighed. "I wish I didn't," he admitted. His tone hardened slightly, words forcing themselves out between gritted teeth. "I don't want to be like you, Lucifer. I don't want to understand you."

"But you do," Lucifer said calmly.

Sam's shoulders drooped, head hanging low so his hair shadowed his face. He said nothing, but his failure to argue spoke volumes.

"Sam," Lucifer said softly, almost sighing the word. "We are quite possibly in the worst place in all of creation. Even if I could come up with some ulterior motive, there is hardly anything I can do down here. I don't want anything from you, but I do appreciate your company." He paused. "Unless you would rather be alone?"

Sam pursed his lips, still reluctant to give Lucifer any leeway, but he had to admit, the archangel had a point. "No," he said eventually. "I don't want to be alone down here."

"This tension is only marginally better," Lucifer pointed out.

Sam sighed.

"All I'm asking is that you talk to me, Sammy."

Sam contemplated. Devil or not, it was hardly an unreasonable request. And Lucifer was right, they _were_ in Hell already, and even if Lucifer gave into his worst instincts, the effects he could cause from this prison were minimal.

"Okay," Sam found himself saying. "I get it. And you're right. I don't want to be alone, and I can't exactly just carry on with this small talk for all of eternity." He drew in a deep breath, shoulders rising. "You're willing to try to get along, so I am, too."

The corner of Lucifer's lips twitched into a smile. "I'm pleased to hear that, Sammy."

Sam frowned slightly. "Only Dean gets to call me that."

Lucifer looked a little displeased at the restriction, but merely shrugged in what Sam supposed was agreement.

Sam exhaled, pushing himself to try to at least appear relax in hopes that the genuine feeling would follow. He busied himself with packing the cards away for a few moments, before looking up at Lucifer. "Got any decent stories? We might as well get to know each other a little better. No card games necessary this time."

Lucifer smiled, shifting position slightly so his hands were braced behind him. "I have a few millennia's worth to choose from. Where do you want me to begin?"

* * *

Sam had begun to listen with merely the polite intention to give Lucifer a chance. But as the devil spun out tales of eons ago, of other worlds, or great celestial events, Sam found himself enraptured.

"Wait," he cut in, desperate for details. "So space used to be empty?"

"Space has always been there," Lucifer explained. "In the literal sense, that's what it is. Just space, a vast area that goes on forever. It was something of a blank canvas, I suppose. Everything was blank to start with. Even Heaven was rather empty, before there were more of us to occupy it, more created. That's what creation is, simply filling space."

Sam nodded eagerly. "Okay, so space as in..." He gestured upward, feeling slightly stupid as he wasn't even sure where the sky was in regards to hell. "You know, space up there. Where did all the planets and stars come from? Like, how were they made? Was there really a big bang?"

Lucifer smiled, seeming amused by his eagerness. "Yes. It's absurd to say that Father having created everything contradicts your science. If Father created everything, he made science, too."

"So He made the big bang happen?"

Lucifer nodded. "He created the matter. He let it come together and interact and then simply grow. I don't know if He knew what it would all become. But He started it all, everything you see, He... planted the seeds, so to speak."

"Wow," Sam whispered. "So... did you see all this happen?"

"I did." Lucifer seemed amused by his awe. "It was beautiful."

"What about life? I mean, you guys already existed, and leviathans, too, right? But I mean, life down here. Did God, you know, spark that off as well?"

Again, Lucifer nodded. "We didn't know His full plan at the time. We simply watched. There was suddenly all these worlds below, planets forming. Earth..." He trailed off briefly, seeming distracted.

Sam wondered if he was remembering it as it was then. He couldn't imagine earth without people and animals, without even great lands and buildings.

"He intended it as a habitat," Lucifer continued finally. "We weren't told. But He sent us down with jobs to do." He paused, glancing over at Sam. "You have to understand, it was lifeless then. It was night. Always."

"How come?" Sam asked, wide-eyed.

"There were no stars," Lucifer explained. "So He sent us down. We were to light this universe. He told us to create them, to weave together the molecules that would form them. So we did. I flew with my brothers and sisters, and we lit up the darkness of space."

He stopped talking there, but Sam felt there was more it than that. That story alone made his head spin, but he was sure there was something Lucifer was not telling him.

Noticing Sam staring at him eagerly, Lucifer sighed and continued. "I was leading some of my younger brothers when my Father called me back to him." Lucifer's expression hardened slightly, as if this were something he was reluctant to remember. "I returned instantly, of course. To be called to him alone, it was always the greatest honour."

"What did he want you for?" Sam asked, attempting to picture the scene in his head. He was painfully aware he was incapable of imaging such a thing. Even picturing Lucifer, in his true form and without a vessel, was damn near impossible, let alone to imagine God himself.

"He said I had a very important job," Lucifer continued quietly. "He told me to create another star. A large star, much closer to the planets. He told me to bring the morning..." Lucifer's voice had taken on a reflective tone. He barely seemed to remember Sam was there. "There was no such word then. There is no Enochian word. But I went to create this star He wanted. I worked so hard at it. I wanted to please Father. I worked until finally the matter gathered and expanded and it began to glow. It's light was so strong it shone down on the planets. The planets were pulled toward it. They began to orbit. The little earth was third in line. We didn't know it then, but it was perfectly placed, balanced for a purpose bigger than we could imagine."

Sam's head was ringing. He could almost see the stars dancing before his eyes. He felt like he was soaring through space with them.

"You... you made the sun?" Sam blurted. "I mean, the actual sun? Like the one that's still there now?"

Lucifer smiled briefly at his shock, blue eyes shimmering in amusement. "People might think a little better of me, I suppose, if they knew I was to be credited for that bit of handiwork." He shook his head slightly, smile dropping a little. "Morningstar," he said. "a clever guy like you, Sam, I'm sure you know that name's attributed to me. Light Bringer, Bringer of Dawn."

"Wow," Sam nodded. "I suppose that does make sense."

Lucifer said nothing. To Sam surprise, he spread his legs forward a little so they were bent at the knee, the heels of his boots resting on the bed as he dropped back so he was lying on top of the covers, staring upward at the phantom image of the bedroom ceiling.

Sam was unsure what to do or say next. He felt inclined to move, that though Lucifer wasn't touching him, this casualness was too intimate. He told himself that was silly, remaining stiffly seated as he was, studying the realness of the fabric of Lucifer's jeans where his legs rested close to Sam's own folded ones.

"You okay?" Sam found himself arguing.

Lucifer seemed to shrug. "It's strange," he admitted. "Talking about all this."

"It's strange hearing it," Sam responded, giving a short, nervous laugh.

Lucifer smiled. "I'll stop if you would prefer."

"No," Sam said, almost blushing at how quickly the word spilt from his lips. "It's... it's all really amazing. Please, carry on."

Lucifer shifted a little, seeming to settle, before once again drawing Sam's mind into visions of eons ago and wondrous tales of the dawn of time.


	5. Swimming

"Would you have still done it?" Sam asked, now sat leaning back against the headboard. "If you'd known the sun would give us life. Would you have refused?"

Lucifer seemed to contemplate this. "I knew nothing of what was to come then. I was happy to do anything my Father asked," he said. "I had brought His light to this earth. I made the first morning. It took so much of my power Michael had to carry me half the way back to Heaven. We were all happy, though. It was beautiful this creation. And it was spreading. Things began to grow on the earth. Plants, the earth was breathing, forming it's own creations." He paused, forehead creasing with a frown. "Even then, we didn't consider such sentient beings every coming to be down there."

Sam imagined himself looking down at some strange petri dish of a new world. What must it have been like, seeing life grow?

"Father let us go down and wander the earth as we pleased. It was a pleasant place. We all loved it. But before we took our first trip, He called Michael to him. When he returned, I asked him what Father had said, but Michael wouldn't tell me much. I presume now Father charged him with merely making sure none of us accidentally blew the whole plan." Lucifer was looking down at his hands. He flexed his right fingers out.

Sam wondered if he was thinking about how he could have put an end to earth's life then and there. He couldn't imagine that Lucifer, one so unblemished, so innocent of his own fate, before the world 'devil' even existed.

"We considered the earth merely a wonderful place to roam," Lucifer said. "The trees had grown tall now, the ground shifting, forming slowly into formations of rock and soil. But slowly, we noticed the life. Bacteria, merely, at first. The life started in the seas, little creatures that we would watch swimming for hours. I asked Michael if he'd known this would happen, and he said Father told him life would be here one day."

"What did you think?" Sam found himself asking.

Lucifer looked surprised at the question, before shrugging. "I thought it fascinating. I admired everything my Father did. I sat with Michael once for days, watching these little tadpoles swim. We watched them grow. We watched the first evolutions. I wanted to know more about them, what it was all for."

"Did God tell you? I mean, did He ever let you in on what he'd planned?"

Lucifer shook his head. "Michael seemed to know everything by then. But whenever I asked, Father told me to watch, to observe and learn." He paused. "I think that was the first thing that unsettled me, not knowing."

"Did any of the others seemed worried?"

"No," Lucifer replied. "They didn't seem to care why. Michael told the younger angels to be respectful, to simply observe. It was a strange order for us. It was like we were waiting."

"Long wait," Sam commented.

"Time was no matter to us," Lucifer said airily. "All these new creatures kept growing. There were insects, and all these fish. I started wondering more and more. I wanted to know where it was all going."

Sam could very well imagine such a thing with Lucifer. Between Lucifer and all the other angels Sam had met, there was some odd questioning nature about Lucifer. Sam wondered why he was so different, so much more curious than the others. He wondered if God had intended it.

"Did you ask God?"

Lucifer nodded, still staring up at the ceiling. "He told me what would be would be," he said mildly. "I worried. I wasn't happy with that. I joined some of my siblings back on earth and it started storming. I think now maybe I caused it." He paused, seeming briefly lost in his memories, before continuing. "We were stood on a shoreline. And there was this one little fish, and it crawled out of the water. There were some of very young angels with us. I remember Michael telling one of them not to step on the fish, that there was big plans for it."

Sam could picture it, a small little creature with barely formed limbs crawling along on the path to evolution.

Lucifer was watching him, head tilted slightly to the side so he could see Sam from his reclined position. "Okay there, Sammy?"

Mutely, he nodded. "Just a little... overwhelmed," he confessed. There was a pause. "And I said not to call me that."

Lucifer merely nodded, turning back to face the ceiling. "I suppose that's enough story time for now. You should get some rest."

Sam glanced over at him curiously. "Do I need sleep? Down here, I mean."

Lucifer shrugged. "It'll likely help you to keep composed. You should be able to. Human souls benefit from rest as much as the body does."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"I'll wait," Lucifer said simply.

Sam frowned uneasily. "Won't you get bored?"

The corner of Lucifer's lips twitched upward as if he were amused. "I waited down here all that time for you, Sam. Letting you sleep for a few hours is really no problem."

Sam looked away uncomfortably, contemplating if he should see if there were any other clothes in the wardrobe when he realised he'd subconsciously willed himself into sleeping attire. Sighing, still unused to the strange shifting reality of Hell, he moved to lie down before he realised Lucifer was still stretched out on the bed.

"Erm... could you... move?"

Lucifer looked up at him curiously. "There's space for you to get in," he said factually.

Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck. "Yes," he said tersely. "But you can't..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'd prefer it if you weren't on the bed while I sleep."

Lucifer looked slightly displeased, but got to his feet nonetheless, crossing the room and dropping down into the rickety chair beside the bookcase.

Feeling distinctly self-conscious, Sam climbed under the covers, turning his back to the archangel because he felt too uncomfortable to look at him. Having Lucifer sat there staring at him wasn't a much better option, but surely anything was more appropriate than sharing the bed.

Shuffling a little to try and get comfortable, Sam closed his eyes, images of the stories of creation Lucifer had told him drifting through his mind.

* * *

He'd been dreaming. He'd dreamt he was flying through space, forming light in his hands and making it into something wonderful. He'd been happy and proud and his brothers and sisters had been there and they'd been proud of him, too. And the stars were shining now, lighting up the universe and all of creation...

His eyes opened and he was looking at them.

Lucifer was stood beside him, turning his head slowly to gaze around in distinct surprise.

"What...?" Sam clambered to his feet, sure he had been lying on a bed but looking down to find nothing beneath his feet. He panicked, pawing at the air, before mentally scolding himself. Hadn't they been through this? It was Hell, and he was only falling if he let himself believe that. _Stop. You're fine_, he told himself, sure enough quickly finding his footing.

"How did you do this?" Lucifer asked, staring off into the distance.

Sam frowned, head snapping up. "Me? I didn't do anything. This is hardly one of my memories. I haven't been to space, you know."

"No," Lucifer said softly. "It's my memory, but the thought power to change the scene came from you. I felt it."

"...Oh." Sam hunched his shoulder uncertainly. "Maybe because you were telling me about it?"

Lucifer glanced back at him. "It's strange you could summon an entire landscape just from that." He seemed to contemplate for a few moments. "Our connection is even stronger than even I imagined."

Sam pursed his lips, unsure how to feel about that. He could hardly deny it, with this huge image floating around them that he'd somehow plucked from Lucifer's mind.

"When we were one being, we could see all of each other then," Lucifer continued. "We've always had a connection, Sam, but I suppose finally being together like that had strengthened it."

Sam looked away, unable to stop feeling a little awed as he studied a cluster of stars twinkling off to his far right. "There's no connection," he mumbled weakly.

Lucifer sighed, seeming to brush off the comment, attributing it to Sam's stubbornness as he approached the hunter. "Well, this isn't too bad a place to be, I suppose." He pointed slightly downwards toward the left. "You can see the earth."

Fascinated, Sam looked to where Lucifer was indicating, eyes widening as he saw the little orb in the distance. It wasn't blue and green like every plastic globe and printed picture, though Sam supposed it looked like that now, in the real world. Instead, here in this little snippet of time, it was darker, dry-looking and sandy-coloured.

"This is unreal," Sam whispered.

"Technically yes," Lucifer commented, looking somewhat amused, as Sam glared at him. "But the real thing is truly this wondrous."

Sam looked down, seeing only a further endless void of stars. He moved one foot around experimentally. "What are we standing on?"

"You'll only fall if you think you're going. The physics here are all in your mind, Sam, like I keep telling you."

"Oh." He raised his head, breathing hitching when he found Lucifer much closer than he expected, stood right beside him, so for a moment Sam's vision was obstructed completely by blue eyes. He leant back slightly, intending to step away but finding his feet had no desire to move. He was surely close enough to feel Lucifer's breath on his face, but he couldn't. Then again, perhaps there just was no breath to feel. This wasn't Lucifer as he truly was now. True-form angels probably didn't need to breathe.

Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, Sam turned away, tilting his head back to watch the surreal world shifting around them.

The non-floor was equally possible to sit down on. What surprised him was that it was Lucifer who first sat cross-legged, as if this were all completely natural. It took a surprisingly short amount of time before Sam joined him.

It might have been hours that passed, days even, or perhaps just a few minutes, but Sam felt in those moments a sense of contention that shouldn't have been possible within Hell.

"Did you often do stuff like this?" Sam asked, voice quite, as if he were afraid making too much noise would shatter the tranquility.

Lucifer was silent for a few moments, seemingly contemplating, before answering. "Sometimes," he said vaguely. "When I could. Remember, creating such scenes requires a focus on happier memories."

Sam looked over at him with a frown. "But you can do it, right? I mean, you seem to find it easy, from what I've seen. You thought up that hotel room for us originally."

Lucifer's lips curled upwards only slightly in something of a smile. However, there was an almost sad quality about it that somehow unnerved Sam. It wasn't a look any devil should have. "Down here alone," he mused. "It was hard, at times, to even remember what happiness was like, let alone remain in the right mindset to create an illusion of it."

"I see," Sam muttered, unable to meet Lucifer's eyes. He tried to tell himself the discomfort he felt was over imagining the idea of millennia alone down here, rather than the fact that Lucifer was so much happier in his presence.

It was so quiet it felt as if the world had stopped. He remembered vaguely something about sound in space, or a lack there of, but what did physics matter right now? He was quite literally staring up at the universe, floating in space without fear of drifting off or suffocating.

When he was a kid, he'd actually got to go on a field trip with one of his schools. Dad had refused initially, but Dean had given him the money for it. They went to an observatory. They'd learnt all about stars and constellations, and there had been a big room with a huge projection of space on the ceiling. The class had to sit on benches while their tour guide gave a speech on astronomy, but Sam had wanted to lie on the floor and stare up at all the twinkling patters and details. He would have been happy to lie there for hours.

He lay back now, marveling at the lack of anything holding him up. He was swimming in the air, like floating on water. He felt like he could maybe kick his legs and swim upward, right up to one of the stars to hold it.

Beside him, he saw Lucifer had lain back too, eyes roaming the scenery with a surprisingly look of tranquility that was unfamiliar with him. He looked... peaceful.

Studying the little distance orb of the earth once more, Sam contemplated just how small it was. Everything looked small, and that was only because they were so far from it. But that distance was the overwhelming thing, just all this... space. It was a void. They could easily drown in it. Well, he could. Lucifer was something so much more. But it made him realise, painfully, his own smallness, his own insignificance. Sam Winchester had never considered himself particularly important, but looking at it all now, in the scheme of things, it struck him- the irrelevance of everything. The things he sweated over, dwelled on. God, in the scheme of things, it just didn't _matter_.

"It matters to me," Lucifer said suddenly.

Sam looked over at him, finding the archangel's head turned to the side to face him.

"You matter to me," Lucifer continued. "I've been here so long, Sam. I've seen all this, witnessed so much, even been a part of it. Even with everything there is in all its greatness, you mattered to me. You always will."

He felt foolish as the tears wet his cheeks. Heck, he wasn't even sure why he was crying. He felt tired and dizzy and drained with it all. Raising one hand, he rubbed harshly at his eyes, lips pursed, staring blearily upward, at anything in the universe other than Lucifer. "God, I wish you'd stop saying things like that," he choked out, the words leaving him in one breathless rush.

"I said I'd never lie to you."

Sam gave a half laugh, half sob, shoulders shaking, hands trembling as he shook his head, more to himself than anything. "Dammnit, Lucifer..."

_This is crazy_, he kept thinking. _Completely damn crazy. I'm in hell, with the devil, and looking up at the stars and it's wonderful._

Lucifer seemed displeased at his distress, head still turned to the side as he watched him with a frown of discontent. Slowly, he reached out, finding Sam's limp hand by his side- the other still wiping his eyes- and wrapped his fingers round Sam's own.

Sam said nothing, exhaled in one long, shaky sigh, and squeezed Lucifer's hand.


End file.
